


We Fucked The Flame Into Being

by orphan_account



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:16:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ian and Mickey's stamina surprises them. Basically just straight up porn.





	

Sweat drenched and panting, Mickey flopped onto his back; cupping his dick protectively. Like fuck Ian was getting his hand or mouth on it again. It’d fucking drop off.

“Here,” Mickey flinched as Ian pressed a damp cloth to his stomach, “You’re a fucking mess.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Mickey retorted, “Fucking put me through the mill.”

“You loved it,” Ian said, tossing the cloth haphazardly across the room, “How many times did you come? Three? Four?”

“Fuck you, as if I kept a tally.”

“Kept asking for more though, didn’t you?”

Mickey rolled his eyes and turned onto his side; facing away from Ian and his smug ass expression. Ok so shoot him; he’d been reduced to begging. Literally begging. But how could he fucking control his innate responses to the wrath of Ian Gallagher and his nine inch wang? His physical reactions and reflexes were fucking inborn and his mind just kind of went along with it. That is until his body yelled uncle and he collapsed in a come covered heap.

Ian jostled him, “You going to sulk on me now? Harsh, considering I’ve just washed your come out of my eyebrows.”

Mickey bit back a laugh, “Watch yourself, bitch.”

“I am. And I is gorgeous.”

“Ugh,” Mickey reached back and pinched his thigh; smirking at the yelp and shove it earned him.

“You fucking suck,” Ian groused.

“Poor choice of words, baby,” Mickey yawned, “You’re lining yourself up for some pretty standard blow job puns.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure you could floor me with your creativity if you weren’t about to pass out.”

Mickey shrugged, “It’s been a long day. Now, lie your ass down and go to fucking sleep.”

“Sorry, mom,” Ian muttered, but nevertheless slid down under the duvet and plastered himself to Mickey’s back, “Ugh, you’re still fucking sticky.”

Mickey sighed, “Ian, baby, do me a favour?”

“What?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

*

 

About twenty minutes passed. Well. It felt like twenty minutes. Could've been an hour for all Mickey knew. Fucked out and aching, he drifted in and out of consciousness, distantly aware of Ian’s fingers tracing circles across his abdomen.

The sixth or seventh time Mickey regained consciousness enough to form a coherent thought, he wondered vaguely why Ian was currently sucking yet another hickey on his shoulder. Like fuck he was getting hard again.

“What’re you doing?” he murmured, brain still foggy.

Ian said nothing, merely hooked his leg over Mickey’s and moved the straddle his thighs. He leant down scraped his teeth against the bruise. Mickey winced and nudged him.

“Still sleeping, Drac— _fuck_!” Mickey hissed as Ian bit down hard on his collarbone, ‘The hell was that for?”

“Wakeup call,” Ian breathed, “You were asleep too long.”

“Ian, I was out for like twenty minutes.”

Ian said nothing, merely continued mouthing his way along Mickey’s throat. Mickey shoved him, tried to wriggle free but Ian simply pushed himself flat against Mickey’s body and pinned him there with his full weight.

“Ian, that's six times today—“ Mickey's protestation slid into a moan as Ian ducked his head and sucked at his nipple. His hands instinctively slid up to fist in Ian's hair, pulling hard. His resistance and resolve trembled; threatening to collapse entirely.

“Six times, huh?” he felt Ian's smile against his skin, “Greedy slut. You going to tell me what you want right now?”

“God, can you just—“ Mickey clutched Ian's head to him as he began to bite down. It wasn't enough to break the skin but fuck if it wasn't close. He couldn't think; couldn't verbalise what he wanted. Christ, he didn't fucking know what he wanted.

“Tell me and I'll make it easy on you,” Ian licked the flesh he'd been abusing, “Cross my heart.”

Mickey moaned softly as Ian trailed a path upwards with his tongue and sucked at the base of his throat. “I, fuck, I don't know what to say to you.”

Ian nipped at the straining tendon in his neck and raised his head. ‘Am I making it hard for you to think?’

Mickey tried to excavate some kind of sarcastic response from his arousal clouded mind. Instead, his thoughts strayed to the hot mouth hovering inches above his. Need shoved rationality to one side and took control.

‘Kiss me.’

Ian laughed quietly, hand sliding down Mickey's chest. He brushed Mickey's lips softly at first and Mickey half expected him to draw back and continue toying with him. He couldn't decide whether that was hot or frustrating; the idea of drawing this out when it was the epitome of sexual torture. Either way, it was forcing all eight pints of blood to his dick.

Instead, Ian leant down and pressed their mouths together once again; this time with more force and purpose.

Mickey arched against him, hands thrusting down to squeeze Ian's ass. Ian's lips were moving just out of sync with Mickey’s; something that was familiar and just so…Ian. Their teeth clashed. Their tongues pushed against one another. They bit and sucked each other's lips until blood merged with saliva, passing from one mouth to the other. It was messy, rough and imperfect; base, raw and human. How they could convey as much in a simple kiss, Mickey didn't know. But it was them. It was instinctive.

Ian drew back abruptly; Mickey straining up.

“You're such a slut,” Ian's breathing was steadily becoming laboured. “Like a bitch in fucking heat.”

Mickey squeezed his eyes shut. Ian's hand was moving steadily downwards.

“You don't know what you want,” Ian whispered, lips pressed against Mickey’s ear, “Because you like it when I take control, don't you? Get so desperate for it. Look at you. You're a mess.”

“Fuck, don't— “ Mickey’s cheeks burned; he could only imagine what he looked like right now. Face flushed. Eyes blown. Begging. Squirming. Clawing. Christ.

“Six rounds…” Mickey's hips jerked as Ian's hand slid closer and closer to his groin. “Six fucking rounds and I made you come multiple times in each. Never satisfied, are you? Such a little whore.”

Mickey groaned, fidgeting restlessly.

“What am I going to do with you, huh?” Ian nipped his lower lip, “What’ll satisfy my needy bitch?”

“Shit, Ian—“ Mickey pressed his face in the crook of Ian's neck but he couldn't completely stifle the noises he was making; low, desperate sounds that he knew would mortify him later.

“Shall I pin you down and fuck your mouth?” Ian’s hand was close.

“Fuck you so hard, you need gagging?” No. Way too close.

“Bet you’d love to sit on my face,” Mickey hissed as Ian palmed his agonising hard on through his boxers, “Take you to the edge, push you back and have you come on me? Bet you’d love that, huh?”

Mickey was almost hyperventilating; each gasp carrying a non-verbal, pleading sound.

Ian squeezed him lightly, “You’re so hard. Six rounds and still whining for more.”

“Not whining—“ Mickey stuttered, squirming and gasping as Ian toyed with the waistband of his boxers. Everything was too much. His cock felt abraded, abused. He couldn't possibly take any more...

“Ssh,” Ian began pushing Mickey's underwear down to his thighs, “You going to come one more time for me, baby?”

“Ian,” Mickey’s hips jerked as Ian closed his hand around his cock, “I—“

“Yes,” Ian pressed his thumb down against the head and delineated a small circle, “I think you can.”

Christ. Mickey nodded; a small jerk of his head. Ian kissed him softly, tugged his bottom lip with his teeth and started to move his hand. Mickey groaned, fidgeting restlessly. His thighs trembled, threatening to close as Ian worked him. He was so sensitive. Way too sensitive. He couldn't—

‘Oh FUCK,’ Ian clamped a hand over his mouth as Mickey honest to God yelped. A spit slicked finger was now rubbing relentlessly at his prostate, moving in time with Ian's hand. Mickey could feel his body curling in on itself; helpless to the onslaught of excruciating pleasure.

‘You're doing so well, baby,’ Ian breathed in his ear as Mickey moaned against his palm, ‘You like it that it's a little too much?’

Mickey writhed in Ian's grip. Each glancing brush to his prostate, every stroke of Ian's hand felt like the end of the world. Too much, way too much, but edging him towards blissful oblivion.

‘Fuckfuckfuck,’ he clawed at Ian's hand, hips jerking erratically. He felt the agonising surge of heat to his groin, building and pulsing in time to the hand jerking him off. His body began to tense.

‘That's it, babe,’ Ian whispered.

Mickey's entire body was aching, tremors wracking through him. He moaned, bit down on Ian's palm, vision whiting the fuck out as he came.

Jesus H Fuck. His shaking body was overheating, dick throbbing and twitching. What day was it? What was his name? Where did he come from? All coherent thought was eradicated, cast into oblivion by the sheer force of his orgasm. He shoved at Ian's hand and Ian seemed to take the hint and promptly rolled off him. Mickey curled in on himself.

“You're so fucking hot, Mick,” he just about registered Ian's voice over the white noise buzzing in his ears. He felt Ian's hand moving fast, jacking himself to whatever fucked out mess Mickey had been reduced to. Mickey wanted to turn and do it for him but his limbs may as well have been on Mars. He didn't even have the presence of mind to pull his underwear up.

Ian came with a guttural moan, face pressed against Mickey's shoulder. He might've said Mickey's name. He might've told Mickey that he loved him. Hell, he might've told him to fuck off for all Mickey knew.

They just lay there on their backs, chests heaving. Mickey was dimly conscious of how much he was sweating; moisture clinging to his hairline and dripping into his eyes. He’d smell pretty funky come morning but like hell he was doing anything about it right now.

Ian reached over and ran a finger through the mess currently drying on Mickey’s skin. There wasn’t much but Mickey was still surprised. You’d think he’d be wrung dry, given the amount of times he’d blown his load.

Ian laughed softly, breaking the silence. “Are you even conscious right now?”

Mickey said nothing, eyes heavy.

Ian poked him in the side, “Earth calling Mickey.”

“Message received, dick face. I need to fucking sleep,” Mickey groaned, swatting at him.

“Just wondering, do you come that hard when you jerk yourself— “

“One more word, and I’m going to go Jackie Chan on you noisy fucks.”

They jumped violently as a vicious pounding on the door followed Mandy’s voice.

“Sorry, Mands,” Ian said, almost reflectively.

Mickey rolled his eyes and stared daggers at the door, “Pay back for all the fucking times I’ve had to listen to your skanky ass getting ploughed.”

“What the fuck ever, just keep the noise to a minimum,” Mandy kicked the door for emphasis, “Can hear you all over this fucking house.”

“Fucking hell,” Mickey reached over and retrieved Ian’s copy of We Need to Talk About Kevin and hurled it at the door, “Good fucking night, Mandy!”

With a final snarled insult, Mandy stomped away, taking care to slam her own bedroom door.

“Who said you could weaponize my fucking book?” Ian shoved him, “Look, it’s fucking ripped!”

Mickey groaned and rolled onto his front, burying his face in the pillow, “Go the fuck to sleep before I shove it up your ass.”

“You’re buying me another copy.”

“Go fuck yourself is what I’m buying. Now. Go. To. Fucking. Sleep.”

 

*

 

Morning rolled around, bringing with it obnoxiously bright sunlight and Yevgeny screaming in the kitchen.

“Fuck,” Mickey groaned, rolling on his side and glaring at the door, “Svet!”

Yev’s screeches were promptly joined by a litany of Russian curses and heavy footfall before the door was flung open.

Svetlana leant heavily against the doorframe; arms folded, “What?”

“Why’s the baby crying?” Mickey demanded, pulling himself up and leaning against the headboard; eliciting a grumble from Ian for taking the duvet with him.

Svetlana’s eyes narrowed, “He has diaper rash.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, “So get some cream.”

“You are parent also,” she snapped, “Instead of rubbing dicks with carrot boy, you buy cream!”

“It’s the ass crack of fucking dawn,” Mickey protested, “How the fuck are you even conscious?”

“I go play nicey nice with surrogate,” she gestured viciously to her distended abdomen, “Meet them at the ultrasound.”

“They still think you’re a kindergarten teacher?” Ian mumbled into the pillow.

Svetlana blinked at him; taken aback that Ian remembered the scam she had going with some rich ass parental wannabes from North Side.

“Wheels on the bus go round and round,” she said before turning back to Mickey, “After ultrasound, I open Rub and Tug. You feed Yev breakfast and you go to grocery store.”

Mickey groaned and slid back down under the duvet. Like fuck he was moving for another hour or so, “Ask Mandy. Been up all fucking night.”

Svetlana shot him a particularly venomous look, “Yes, I hear. Anyway, you should know that Patel hit one of the girls yesterday. Left without pay.”

Mickey frowned, “Dry cleaner Patel?”

“Uh huh.”

Mind already conjuring enticing images of the whore-beating cunt with a pool cue up his ass, Mickey nodded, “I’ll take care of it.”

“Good,” Svetlana turned and looked over her shoulder, “I put Yev to bed for one hour. You feed him after you fuck orange boy, yes?”

“Won’t need an hour,” Ian said succinctly, face still buried in the pillow, “Blows his load in five minutes.”

Mickey grimaced and burrowed further under the duvet, kicking Ian hard in the shin, “Asshole.”

“One hour,” Svetlana iterated, “You come then feed baby.”

“Alright, message under fucking stood!” Mickey snapped, pulling the duvet over his head entirely, “Fuck off to your ultrasound.”

“Piece of shit,” he heard her mutter before the door slammed shut, prompting Yev to unleash another torrent of screams.

Mickey curled further in on himself; pulling the pillow down over his head and grumbling when it did nothing to block out the relentless tirade of gurgling shrieks now issuing overhead. He heard Svetlana singing some Russian lullaby; the floorboards above creaking as she paced backwards and forwards. And still Yev squealed on.

“For fuck’s sake,” Mickey groaned, remerging and flopping onto his back. Ian sniggered.

“You’re cute when you’re pissed,” he said, reaching over and pinching Mickey’s cheek.

“Fuck off,” Mickey jerked away, scowling, “You’d be pissed too if you’d been boned within an inch of your life then woken up two fucking hours later.”

“Mm,” Ian shuffled closer, “I think you’ll find that we’re in similar straits, baby. Put me through the wringer last night.”

Mickey scoffed, “Shut the fuck up, you were the one initiating everything. I’m the victim.”

“Oh yeah, because coming Christ knows how many times is a fucking first world problem,” Ian snorted, “I was the one doing the work.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that me choking on your cock was that strenuous for you.”

“Not as strenuous as pounding your ass for ten solid minutes while you took your merry fucking time coming,” Ian shot back. Wow, low blow.

“Should’ve upped your game then,” Mickey turned on his side and gave Ian a mocking smile. He could fight dirty too, “Should’ve nailed me right. I’d have come quicker.”

Ian’s eyes narrowed, “Oh I nailed you right. I nailed you right again and again and again.”

Mickey smirked. He didn’t quite know why he was baiting Ian like this; it rarely boded well for Mickey. He was usually forced to his knees and had his face fucked until he was practically heaving. That said, it was always enough to leave him with a boner the size of Manhattan so that weighed out the discomfort. Especially when Ian relented and ploughed him into the mattress.

Oh, fuck no, why the hell was he goading Ian if that was the sure-fire result? His asshole and cock needed fucking intensive care. Mickey bit his lip, trying to forestall the retort poised in his throat. Unfortunately, his inner bitch craved the limelight.

“And I seem to remember making you come so hard, your eyes fucking watered,” he said, “Made you cry like a bitch didn’t I, baby?”

Ian’s eyes darkened as he fixed Mickey with an army levelling glare. Mickey’s breath hitched. Oh fuck.

“You’re going to really regret that.”

 

* 

 

However, when Mickey found himself being shoved face down, ass up twenty minutes later; any semblance of regret or reserve had vacated the fucking building. So much for intensive care.

“Christ, don't stop…”

“Who’s the bitch now then, huh?”

Mickey clenched his teeth over a moan, shuddering as Ian pressed the point of his tongue hard against him.

“Fuck you,” he gasped, hands twisting in the sheets.

Ian bit the meat of his ass hard and drew back. “Ungrateful fucker.”

Mickey practically choked.

“Get your mouth the fuck back to work,” he hissed as Ian dug his nails into the hollows of his hips. “Didn't say you could stop.”

Ian laughed softly. “You don’t call the shots, baby.”

“Holy fucking shit!”

Mickey bit at his own bicep to stifle a particularly mortifying groan. He hitched his hips back as much as he could, which wasn't much. Ian had one arm wrapped tightly around Mickey’s waist as long fingers unerringly found his prostate. Mickey reached behind him and knotted his fingers in Ian's hair, eyes squeezed shut.

“Yeah,” said Ian, kissing the base of Mickey’s spine. “That's better.”

Mickey's thoughts were promptly diminishing into a stream of fuckfuckfuckfuckclosecloseclose. He felt Ian's smile against his skin and just about managed to excavate a garbled response.

“You mind not, fuuuuck,” Ian had added another finger, “acting so smug while you've got your fingers in my ass?”

Ian reached down and closed his hand around Mickey’s cock. “I'm about to make you come so hard, you'll forget your own name. I've earned smug.”

Mickey groaned; body tensing, stomach clenching…

“Close,” he moaned as Ian dragged his fingers over his prostate.

He was on the honest to god brink, balls tightening when there was a sudden banging on the door.

“Need to use the bathroom, assholes!”

“Fuck!” Mickey punched the mattress as the sweet promise of release flagged a little. Fuck if he was going to forego his fucking orgasm. Ian went to withdraw his fingers, glaring at the door, when Mickey grabbed his arm and pushed back.

“Don't fucking stop.”

“Yes, fucking stop!”

Ian jerked him harder, fingers stilling against his prostate. Mickey shoved into Ian's fist once more, hitched his hips back and came with a muffled groan.

“I’m coming in!”

Mickey rolled onto his back, pulling the sheet with him. Best to keep the streaks of come currently painting his stomach out of sight. Ian pulled the sheet over his own legs and sat with his back against the headboard. Mickey shuffled up the bed to sit beside him, breathing hard, hands still shaking.

“You better be fucking decent.”

The door swung open to reveal a murderous looking Iggy Milkovich. Mickey glowered at him.

"Why the fuck couldn't you have used the other fucking door?" he snapped, pulling the sheet up to his chin.

“It's locked from the inside, doofus. Jesus, do you two ever do anything other than fuck?” he asked, drumming his fingers against the door frame.

Mickey pointed to the bathroom door, “Get the fuck in there before I shove my forty four up your weedy ass.”

“Ugh,” Iggy grimaced as he crossed the room, “Just put your dicks on hold while I shit, yeah?”

“Asshole,” Mickey muttered when the bathroom door clicked shut.

“Ahem.”

Ian was staring at him expectantly, eyebrows raised. Mickey was nonplussed for a moment until the silent demand registered. He shoved the sheet back and straddled Ian, running his hands up his chest. Iggy could go fuck himself.

“Sorry,” Mickey breathed, rubbing Ian's nipples with the pad of his thumb.

Cocking his head slightly to the side, Ian’s eyes flicked downwards. His hint was about as subtle as an axe in the head. Impatient fucker.

Mickey kissed him – as fucking if he was going to deprive himself of that – with the barest parting of lips; tongue just brushing Ian's, teeth in check. Ian moaned softly, hips rocking slowly against Mickey’s ass. He pushed his tongue more firmly against Mickey's; tried to coax his lips to open further.

His teeth had just begun to tug at Mickey’s lower lip before Mickey pulled back, grinning. Ian scowled; something that was short lived as Mickey pushed away and down

Without missing a beat, he wrapped one hand around Ian's cock, thumb pressing against the head. Ian, who had raised himself slightly up, promptly fell back against the pillows.

Mickey kept it slow, bordering on maddening. Well. The fucker had teased the fuck out of him last night.

Ian's hips jerked upwards, trying to fuck into Mickey’s grip. Mickey grinned and simply held him down with his free hand; eliciting a frustrated groan and a scowl.

“For fuck’s sake, Mick– “

Mickey jerked him a little faster, gripped him more tightly. Ian moaned in earnest, ab muscles clenching. “Like that, fuck, just like that.”

Holy fuck, that was hot. Mickey gritted his teeth against his own moan; the desperation in Ian's voice always a sure-fire way to send any attempt at deprivation or denial cartwheeling into the distance. Mickey made a low noise and without warning, replaced his hand with his mouth.

Ian damn near sobbed, eyes rolling upwards and closing. If his mouth wasn't full of dick, Mickey would've grinned. He knew full well how damn fucking good he was at this.

Mickey drew back up to the head and tongued the slit. Ian didn't seem able to lie still; thighs trembling as Mickey pushed down again, tongue pressed against the vein.

“Shit…fuck,” Ian's hands were pulling at Mickey's hair. Mickey hummed his contentment and sucked harder. He could practically feel the blood beating in Ian's cock.

“So close,” Ian managed to grit out.

Mickey dug his nails hard into Ian's hips, before sliding his hand up to rub and pinch his nipples. Ian's body tensed, teeth gritted, eyes tight shut. Mickey pushed down further, past his gag reflex, swallowing as Ian's cock hit the back of his throat…

Ian came hard, entire body shaking as he emptied himself into Mickey’s mouth. Mickey swallowed what he was given, fingers still tracing circles around Ian's nipples. As the grip on his hair tightened and Ian's thighs began to close around his head, Mickey dragged his tongue up the length of his cock and licked the head as he pulled off.

Ian lay there, gasping like a landed fish, hand still fisted in the bed sheet.

“Wow,” he managed to breathe.

Mickey smiled. “Damn fucking straight.”

Ian swatted at him, relinquishing his death grip on the sheets and sitting half way up. Mickey watched him for a moment before very deliberately wiping his mouth with the back of his hand; taking care to swipe his knuckles with his tongue. He wasn't entirely sure why. Situational appropriation or some shit.

In any case, it had the desired effect. Ian swallowed convulsively before sitting up fully and pulling Mickey into a kiss.

Ian kissed like he fucked; relentless, bruising and unsubtle. He seemed intent on tasting every bit of himself, his tongue probing the very recesses of Mickey’s mouth. Every scrape of teeth, every slide of their lips felt like an assault; a fight for dominance.

Moans and sighs joined the onslaught, followed by impulsive grinding on Mickey's part. His dick seemed to have taken the reigns, making all the decisions for him.

Sensitive as he was, Ian hissed at the push of Mickey's newly awakened cock against his own.

“Sorry,” Mickey whispered, stilling the movements of his hips.

Ian shook his head. “Don't be.”

Mickey found himself being pushed onto his back, Ian's fingers digging into his hips; using them as leverage to reposition him.

Mickey moaned against Ian's mouth, rutting against his thigh with mindless determination. He honest to God whined as Ian shifted his hips and moved his thigh up. Mickey bit his lip. Fuck.

“Christ, Ian,” Mickey wasn't sure what he was saying or why. All that mattered was that Ian kept his thigh in place, kept pushing it against his dick. “I'm going to…”

Ian rocked his hips just as Mickey ground down and shit, that was all she fucking wrote. He came hard, burying his face into Ian's chest to muffle whatever mortifying noises his orgasm was forcing out of him.

Ian carded his fingers through Mickey's hair, murmuring in his ear. Over the thunder of his blood, Mickey could just about decipher an “I love you.”

“Gay,” he mumbled, unwilling to extricate himself.

Ian chuckled in his ear and turned them onto their sides. “I feel like we should keep a sex chart or some shit. Six rounds yesterday; Four today…”

“Three and a half,” Mickey clarified, pressing a kiss beneath Ian's ear, “Counts as a full round when you get off.”

“Huh. Best put your thinking cap on then, wise guy,” Ian tapped his forehead, “Better be imaginative.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Erm, pretty self-explanatory? Use your imagination?”

Mickey flicked him. “Smart ass. What, you want me to double end you, is that it?”

“Double end…what the fuck?” Ian stared at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“Double ended dildo, man,” Ian's eyes widened, “What, you not down?”

It'd been worth inventing the term for this. Ian gazing at him, mouth agape was Comedy Central material.

Ian swallowed, “My ass is kind of vanilla.”

“What, you don't want to try new things?” Mickey bit his lip. He couldn't keep this up for much longer. Ian looked like he'd got a pair of Frank’s pants and taken a five second inhale. Mickey wished he had a camera. “Bit of ass to ass action?”

“I…just,” Ian spluttered.

“You just what, tough guy?”

Ian glared at him. “When I said use your imagination, I didn't think you'd use Requiem for a fucking Dream as inspir– why the fuck are you laughing? Oh, you fucking asshole!”


End file.
